Conversation with the Devil
by HowlynMad
Summary: Challenge: What could Moriarty say to seduce Sherlock to the darkside... five simple words.


"Five words. That's all it would take. Five words and I own you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, was also probably the only man in the world that could sigh sarcastically. "How sad. I thought you might actually be a challenge. Rather disappointing to find out you're simply delusional."

Moriarty smiled unpleasantly. "Five words." He held up a small key and reaching behind Holmes unlocked the cuffs. Tossing them on the table he turned. "I don't really need them. I just rather like seeing you restrained." He motioned, "You're free to leave anytime."

Holmes rubbed his wrists unhurriedly. He could still feel the effects of the drugs in his system. Fighting his way out wasn't really an option. "How gracious."

Moriarty raised his brows. "Was there something else Sherlock? Anything you care to discuss? I think we both know there's much more to our relationship than simple adversaries."

"I'm not playing this game with you. You didn't go to all this trouble to kidnap me just to let me stroll away. What is it you want?"

Moriarty shrugged, "Thought I might give you a chance that's all."

"A chance?" Sherlock stood slowly. His vision swam and he leaned against the chair.

The shorter man paced around him." I really can't allow this to go on. You're interfering where you don't belong and I really can't have that. Fun is fun but you cost me time and manpower with that last little gambit of yours."

The detective grinned," I should have known you'd be a sore loser. It's gratifying to hear you admit it though."

Moriarty tsked, "Really now, Sherlock, you're the last one I expected to operate under such self-delusion. You can't hurt me, not like I can hurt you. Don't you see? You and I are the same."

"Hardly."

"You think that I don't know what this is all about? You think I don't understand? There are thousands of geniuses out there. People whose minds rival yours."

Sherlock raised a single elegant brow. "Is that so?"

"Answer something for me. With your brilliant mind why didn't you become an engineer or a scientist…"

"I am a scientist…"

"You know what I mean. Why aren't you out there using that intellect of yours for the good of mankind? Finding new energy sources or creating much needed vaccines?"

Sherlock snorted lightly. "Pedantic."

"Exactly, why would you care?" Moriarty agreed, "You wouldn't do any of those things because those things aren't enough. They are still too ordinary… too boring. There are others with brilliance out there… I know you realize…they aren't like you."

"I know what I am. There's nothing revolutionary you can tell me."

"Maybe you just need to hear someone say it. It's not just about the games, you know. Life holds many mysteries. But the murders, the bodies, the death… do you even understand your obsession?"

"Do you? You're rather obvious you know."

"Am I?" the psychopath smirked.

Sherlock shook his head slowly, "Really Moriarty. This is becoming tedious. What do you really want?"

"I thought I made that clear. I want to break you… and then I will remake you."

The eye-roll finally appeared, "Now a god complex. Not really surprising. How predictable you're becoming. Better hurry up and get to the point before I'm totally disenchanted."

Moriarty scowled then his expression brightened to mad glee. "I'm probably going to enjoy this more than anything I've ever done. Though, I doubt that you're going to appreciate it all that much. At least not at first, at least not until you acknowledge the obvious. You will be my masterpiece Sherlock Holmes!"

"If you only kidnapped me to blow hot air up my skirt then I'll just be leaving." Sherlock pulled himself erect and attempted not to sway as the room seemed to undulate slightly. The dizziness finally receded and with as much nonchalance as he could muster Sherlock turned his back on his nemesis. He didn't really think that Moriarty intended to kill him but it was hard to tell true intentions when it came to psychopaths. He didn't get three steps before…

"You'll… never… be… bored… again," Moriarty staccatoed, his tone as chilling as the arctic wind.

The detective stopped dead in his tracks, for a crazy second he almost thought his heart had done the same. His mind was racing at breakneck speed but his voice never wavered when he responded sardonically, "Technically, that's six words "you'll" is a contraction of you and will."

Moriarty's breath ghosted in his ear. When had he gotten so close? "I understand. I'm the only one that really can. You know that but your ego won't let you admit it. You and I are two of a kind. We were made for each other. There's nothing or no one that could stand against us once we put our minds to it. The world is ours."

Sherlock couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes dramatically; "I can see I'll have to add megalomania to your obvious psychopathic tendencies."

"Takes one to know one," Moriarty sing-songed. "And I know one…"

This was ridiculous. "I have no interest in power mongering. It's all too tedious. If you want to rule the world, have at it."

Moriarty wagged his finger. "Come on now, think it through. How better to prove that you're the cleverest man on the planet? Hm? No one, not even your brother could deny it. He couldn't stop you, you know that, right? That's why he keeps you on such a tight leash. He knows. He sees your potential. All you have to do is commit to it."

"Or be committed for listening to you." Sherlock drew himself up, using his height to intimidate. "And I don't need to prove that I'm the cleverest man on the planet." He left the implication unsaid.

Moriarty wrapped his arms around himself, "Your arrogance leaves me all aquiver. But why do you limit yourself to pitting your intellect against criminals when you could pit your mind against all comers?"

Sherlock cocked his head, "How do you mean?"

A slow grin slid across Moriarty's lips, …_got you_. "Let's face it Sherlock, how many criminals are truly worthy of your attention besides me?"

Sherlock shot him a withering look, another eye-roll imminent.

"You know it's true. Most are clever at best. You solve their crimes not because of something wonderful that the perpetrator has done but rather because it's better than the alternative. Boredom. Believe me, I understand, all too well. It can't be helped, really, you have to work with what you can find," he offered solicitously. "For myself, I find challenge with not only criminals but with the "civilized"… especially those that think themselves above the law. Funny how ordinary people think they're special." He paused to let his words ruminate. "And well, "ordinary" ordinary people too, but they don't really count, being as they're so… ordinary. Though they do make useful pawns… or experiments."

Sherlock's expression hardened, "I'm warning you…"

"Now, now, I'm not trying to start an argument. I just wonder why you subject yourself to self-imposed restrictions? Think of all the games you could play if you didn't limit yourself to the criminal element."

"Thereby making myself one of their number… how transparent."

Moriarty scoffed, "There you go again. You really must stop counting yourself as one of the herd when you're so clearly not. Who cares? You and I don't need to bother with classifications. The world is what we make it."

"I do wish you'd stop associating us. You're boring me with your attempt to create camaraderie by pointing out our similarities. World conquest or whatever the plot… is your goal, not mine."

"How disappointing to find you have so little ambition. How can you be content to chase police inspectors for the rest of your days?" Moriarty turned the screw ever tighter. "Is that really your grand plan? Sherlock, please. I understand. I know the cracks are already starting to appear. Hasn't been enough cases of late to _really_ hold your interest has there? Just more boring murders, thievery, and other small minded machinations. The same old stuff that people do to each other on a daily basis." Moriarty tapped himself on the chin. "So how to make it more interesting?"

Moriarty crossed his arms over his chest and continued, "Well there's always the drugs I suppose. But the backlash is a bother. And really, how much fun is it to be in a stupor all the time? Because that's what it will come down to eventually, if you continue to use chemical means to subdue your intellectual imperative. You're not really going to bother to deny it, are you?"

Sherlock's mouth had gone dry. "Of course not. What would be the point?"

"Well, good then. Admitting you have a problem is the first step they say… and I'm not talking about the drugs." The psychopath grinned, "How long can you take it? How long before you just… snap? How long will it be before the boredom drives you quite literally insane?"

Sherlock wanted to swallow the lump in his throat but there simply wasn't any moisture left. The madman wasn't telling him anything that he hadn't already considered. People always thought that he couldn't feel but that wasn't true. He had emotions of a sort and when he considered losing the one perfect thing he had, through madness or medical intervention… he was terrified. His perfect mind was everything. "Is that what happened to you?" he snapped back archly.

"No reason to get catty. Could it be that I've struck a nerve?" Moriarty wheedled, "Come on. What do you say? We play adversaries very well but what say we try it as allies once? Who knows what could happen! It will be glorious."

Sherlock snorted lightly. He shouldn't be considering anything that this psychopath had to say. By very definition Moriarty simply would not play well with others. But then again that was part of the challenge wasn't it. "So _you_ say."

The detective's mind raced ahead in seven different directions at once but he always came back to just one thing… John. John would not approve of his contemplation.

That's how he had begun to gauge the appropriateness of his actions. Would John approve? If he wouldn't, then generally Sherlock would take a second look at the situation. Not that he cared one way or the other what people thought of his behavior but John did and he was learning he needed to make some concessions if he wanted to keep his friend. And though he couldn't quite say why, it was important to him what John thought.

After all, John was the only real friend he'd ever had; it was a novel experience for him. It brought thoughts and emotions to the surface that were new and potentially exciting. And oddly enough, the distraction that John caused was, for the most part, productive to his work. In the end, _the work_, was what really mattered and John had quickly become part of that routine.

"I…" Sherlock hesitated, "What did you have in mind?"


End file.
